


"i'm safe & we're a million miles away"

by talkwordytome



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: He starts to say something else, but she misses it. She is dizzy, dizzy, a comet spinning into sleep.In which I write a cozy, sweet, sleepy little X-Files drabble, because why not.





	"i'm safe & we're a million miles away"

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this post (http://nobodysflower.tumblr.com/post/116610061228/different-kinds-of-tired-1-all-day-at-the-beach) on tumblr the other day and the phrases “milky tired” and “dizzy, dizzy, spinning into sleep” were just so lovely that I felt like I needed to write a fic with them in it. So here’s a sweet little X Files drabble, set at some point during the revival timeline, that I may or may not continue at some point later on. We’ll see.

Her face is pressed to the cool glass window. Outside, rain falls in thick silvery sheets; warbling yellow headlights, lighthouse beacons, illuminate the highway that unfolds like a ribbon before them. There aren’t many other cars out. It is late; very late. It is the sort of late that is neither morning nor night. The strange uneven time. She doesn’t know if she should be drinking coffee or sleeping. She is tired in a way she hasn’t been in years, a tired that reaches beyond her bones and wraps its arms around the small world surrounding her. _Milky tired_ , she thinks, and she knows it is true. Her vision is fogged and runny, distorted as though she’s looking through the warped bottom of a handblown glass. She has forgotten this tired. The body remembers. The body forgets.

Her head is throbbing. If you asked her if she was dreaming, she isn’t sure that she’d be able to tell for certain. She swallows past the dull ache in her throat, blinks her burning eyes. Her eyelids are melting closed. She is hot, shivering hot. _Fevers_ , she thinks, _are a very contradictory thing_. Respiration has become a difficult, alien concept, as though she is trying to breathe through water. She wonders if she should mention this to Mulder. But when she tries, the words are marble heavy on her tongue. _Breathe_ , she thinks. _I breathe, you breathe, we breathe. Breathed. Breathing._ The more she thinks it, the less familiar the word becomes. It stops being important. She trusts her body. It’s fared worse, and she is still here.

She opens her eyes. It’s been an hour. It’s been a minute. It’s been both, and it’s been neither. Next to her, in the driver’s seat, Mulder is humming tunelessly along to the radio. Her eyes close. She doesn’t recognize the song, and for a moment, in her delirium, she wonders if perhaps they have crossed universes. She thinks of losing time. She thinks of the possibilities of impossibilities. She thinks: _Mulder. Mulder Mulder Mulder Mulder_.

“Scully?”

 _How nice_ , she thinks, _that he heard me in my dream._

“Hey, Scully? Are you okay?”

Someone jostles her arm. She blinks into wakefulness, just manages to catch a sneeze in her cupped hands. “What?” she croaks.

“You said my name,” Mulder says, forehead creased.

She closes her eyes again. “I dreamed your name,” she whispers. “And you heard.”

Mulder’s palm is dry and miraculously cool. It feels the way snow looks. He whistles lowly. “Scully, you’re burning up,” he says, and she is coherent enough to hear the worry in his voice.

She slowly shifts so she is looking at him. “I think I’m coming down with something,” she says, though her throat protests speech. 

Mulder grimaces. “I think it’s safe to say you've _already_ come down with something, Scully,” he says.

Scully leans her achy head back against the seat. “My bones are sore,” she says.

“We’re almost back to D.C.,” Mulder says. “Twenty minutes, tops.”

He starts to say something else, but she misses it. She is dizzy, dizzy, a comet spinning into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "The Moon Song" by Karen O and Ezra Koenig. It's beautiful. Listen to it.
> 
> This takes place at some point during the revival, so Mulder and Scully aren't *exactly* together, but they have the *potential* to be, y'know?


End file.
